Waking the Dead: SYOC
by MyOtherPersonality
Summary: Harry Potter's years in Hogwarts have long since ended. Now, a new threat has arisen, and a new generation of students must defend themselves from an enemy no one has ever seen before. SYOC OPEN!


**A/N: If you're wondering about my other SYOC, there are two reasons it's gone. First of all, I waited weeks and still didn't get in the people or the information I was looking for. Second, it got reported and deleted- the third time this has happened to an XME SYOC for me. I think I'm pretty much done trying to get those going; but, as I'm still eager for a writing project I've decided to try my hand with this.**

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The room was silent as a grave, which was rather appropriate for a tomb.

The walls wept with condensation, moss growing happily in each nook and cranny that had appeared in the dark granite walls. Carefully carved decorations had faded over time, and each name was either slightly smudged or completely unable to read. In front of one grave marker, a beautiful statue of an angel had crumbled until the creature seemed to be solemnly offering its own head, nestled daintily in its outstretched arms.

The night's silence was lifted in an instant, as the faint howl of a wolf trickled through the cracks in the walls. At the entrance to the crypt, a cloaked figure shivered and the light from their wand danced over the walls. "Found it?" the figure hissed, voice echoing weirdly around the space. The cloak shuddered again, and with one particularly pronounced twitch the hood dropped to the figure's shoulders.

A man; a boy really, with thin cheeks, light brown hair and blue eyes that taken together brought to mind the word _"ferrety." _In the sunshine, laughing with his friends, he would have been almost handsome. Here, in the blue light of a broken crypt, he looked sick. Dark circles settled under his eyes, and beads of cold sweat stood in stark relief on his brow. He was swamped by his cloak, the black fabric pooling around him like a puddle of ink and hanging loosely off his shoulders.

Ten feet in front of him, another figure paced smoothly through the narrow crypt. He seemed perfectly at ease in this cruel place, every now and then placing a manicured fingertip on the edge of a grave marker. If the boy's robes fit him poorly, this figure seemed to have had them tailored to his form. He did not respond.

The boy cleared his throat again. "Sir? Found it yet, sir?"

The figure paused in his rounds, turning and lowering his hood in an impossibly graceful motion. As he always did, the boy looked down. He could never bring himself to look at his master's face. Not because it was ugly, or misshapen. Quite the opposite.

Cold, clear grey-blue eyes shone out from under a smooth brow, above a set of cheekbones that, if they hadn't been sculpted by God, had at least received a passing nod from Him as he went by. Thick blonde hair seemed to float above his head and curl lazily over his temples, tousled and windblown even in the heavy stillness of the dead air around them. His skin was ivory; his build, perfectly proportioned. When he offered a small smile to his companion, the darkness almost ran from it.

"Don't be so crude, Samuel," he chided. His voice was surprisingly warm and husky, and despite himself Sam felt a small toothpick of tension being plucked from his shoulders. Never mind that no one except his mother had ever called him Samuel.

"Don't you feel them?" Two perfect arms spread wide, and the golden man arched his throat. Sam looked around nervously, half-expecting skeletons to lunge from the walls. Nothing moved.

"Seconds, minutes, hours, days… all the years of a person's life. Every moment of laughter. Every tear, every smile. Every dream they chased into oblivion. Every wish they made that never came true," his master continued, laying a soft hand atop a nearby gravestone. "Lying here, beneath this… is everything they were." He looked on reverently, paying little attention to the multitude of insects that were frantically skittering away from his flesh. Sam never thought he'd be able to sympathize with a maggot.

"Come here, Samuel," the golden man called and in a moment the boy was at his elbow, looking confused about how he had gotten there. The pale hand lifted slightly, a single finger remaining on the gravestone. "Here."

Sam took a hesitant step forward, eyes wide to see through the gloom. Before them sat a simple tomb; a low rectangle with slick sides. The cover was carved into delicate vines and flowers, a few words interspersed in the tangle. The gravestone in front of it was unimpressive, polished sides dingy with dust. He gave it a few more confused glances, but couldn't make out any words carved into it. "Sir… this grave looks empty. There's not even a name. How can you be sure-"

"I am sure, Samuel." The golden man was tracing a lazy circle across the top of the gravestone, eyes far away.

Samuel cleared his throat. "I just thought… sir, if it's the wrong one…"

"_Samuel."_ The tone was wheedling. It broke the boy's heart. Samuel threw himself against the top of the granite tomb, the rocks sliding over themselves with loud noises of protest. After a few moments he fell back, breathing heavily and looking pleadingly up at his master.

The golden man offered him nothing more than a sad smile. "I'm afraid I cannot help. Not here." After a short moment, he lay a hand on the crown of the boy's head. "I believe in you, Samuel."

He couldn't very well refuse after that.

The next ten minutes were filled with nothing but the sounds of shifting stone and grunts of exertion; there was no light now, with Sam's wand stowed away in his back pocket. The golden man stood a silent watch as Samuel threw himself into the side of the tomb, again and again. His forehead dripped with sweat, and he pulled the cloak off to reveal a simple shirt and jeans. Finally, as the golden man's face broke into a beautiful smile, the lid of the tomb crashed ungracefully to the floor, buckling and snapping nearly in two. Dust leapt into the air, and Sam exploded into coughs. The golden man didn't seem to notice.

He leaned in, eyes hooded slightly and mouth still set in his pleased grin. A face grinned back at him. The golden man inclined his head a fraction, bowing in respect. "Hello again." He straightened, turning on his heel and walking calmly from the tomb. "Samuel… we need the moon. Bring our guest."

Sam watched his master pass, eyes burning from the dust. He sniffed, gathering his clothes and holding his wand in front of him. _"Wingardium leviosa."_

The boy left the crypt backwards, stepping slowly, eyes trained behind him. He couldn't look in front; couldn't lock eyes with what he was carrying. He didn't break eye contact with the ground until he felt the cold night air wash over him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw his master sitting cross legged on the grass. The golden man smiled politely at him. "Bring him here, Samuel." Sam stopped the charm gratefully, and his passenger settled silently onto the grass. Only now could he look.

The corpse's skin had pulled taut against his face, drawing the lips back in a horrendous smile. The eyes were gone from the socket, and the hands had long since curled into leathery claws. Samuel swallowed against the acid rising in his stomach. His master seemed delighted; he drew a wand from within his cloak. Thin, dainty, and black as the inside of the tomb. The end rested lightly against the corpse's temple. Sam settled reluctantly onto the grass, the edge of his wand pressed against the other temple.

They were silent for a time; Sam's mind was furiously repeating the phrases that had been hammered into him by his master. Phrases that he had been told could never be uttered aloud. Phrases that, he had been assured, would do ghastly harm if he got even one of them wrong. A new wave of sweat broke out on his back, this one ice cold.

The change began slowly; a creak here, a crack there. But suddenly, the corpse began to change. The collapsed ribcage swelled again. Skin knitted itself over empty patches. Eyes pooled sickeningly into the empty sockets, filling like a glass of thick milk. In the end, they stared down at a man; a man with waxy skin and colorless hair, but a man. His eyelids were shut, his chest unmoving.

Sam felt a twinge of dread in his gut, a burning coal. He pushed it away, not knowing what it was about. "Sir… he isn't moving." His master didn't seem to hear him. He lowered his wand, stroking the man's cheek with the back of his hand. The coal grew hotter, and Sam cleared his throat. "Sir, you said he would be moving."

His master looked up, and the coal in Sam's gut hardened to ice. The expression on his master's face was the same you would give an ant beneath your boot. Dull acknowledgement; nearly boredom. The dark wand raised almost lazily. _"Petrificus totalis."_ Sam collapsed to the ground, jaw clenched and arms stiff. His head landed a foot to his left, and he found himself staring directly at the face of the corpse.

His master raised his hand again, slicing a few patterns into the air. _"Sectumsempra."_ White-hot pain shot through Sam's chest, and a garbled scream of pain erupted from behind his teeth. The cloying, coppery scent of blood filled the air, and a horrible wet gasp was heard.

The corpse's eyes snapped open, and he breathed in a gurgling breath. His head turned slowly, and Sam let out another choked scream. The corpse's eyes were blank, pupil-less. Like looking at two white marbles.

His master let out a laugh that broke his heart. A beautiful laugh.

"_Feed."_

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**So, as you've figured, this does not take place during the seven books but rather afterwards- later during the same time that the Golden Trio's children are attending Hogwarts (as in, Al would probably be a sixth or seventh year). A new villain is here, and he has some **_**lovely**_** ideas in mind for our new cast of young witches and wizards. **

**This is NOT first come first serve; I'm looking for quality. I need a few from each house, and please try to be original. No relatives of canon characters, no repeats of canon characters, and PLEASE no Mary-Sues. You can make as many as you like, but please be aware that if they are made specifically so I must accept all of them (completely intertwined), I'll likely accept neither. Fill out every part of the application, please, and title your PM with your character's name. **

**Have fun!**

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Name:

Nicknames (Both friendly and cruel):

Year:

Gender:

Sexuality:

House:

Blood Status:

Hair color/style:

Eye color:

Build:

Skin tone:

Extras (piercings, scars, tattoos, etc.):

Celebrity Look-Alike (No twelve year olds who look thirty, please):

Personality (Not just a list of words; I need elaboration):

History (How they grew up, their lives before the story. Details!):

Family (Details if important to character):

Fashion sense:

Likes:

Dislikes:

What kind of people are they friends with?:

What kind of people are their enemies?:

What kind of people would they date (and do you want them to have a relationship in the story?):

Biggest Secret:

Greatest Fears (Important; at least one physical and one psychological (IE: Dogs and failure):

Personal Belongings:

Pet:

At least FOUR good examples of dialogue:

At least THREE plotline ideas for them:

How would you like them introduced?:

Anything else I should know?:


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